


Never Easy, But We Try

by tonkzart



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Gen, castle staff and royal kids hanging out! we love it, second gen life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonkzart/pseuds/tonkzart
Summary: Belle and Adam's children are growing up into fine young adults - but that doesn't mean they aren't making mistakes. Even with their loving parents there to guide and raise them, living in a full yet close-knit castle presents problems of its own. Between the village of Villeneuve and the once-enchanted castle, the children will learn about family, love, and what's really important in life.
Relationships: Adam/Belle (Disney)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. The Village Dance

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read The Look on Their Faces - which is NOT necessary for this story - you'll know about my headcanons for Belle and Adam's kids, of whom there are a lot (ten, to be exact). I'm operating in a fun Disney middle-ground - I like the idea of period-appropriate information, but I absolutely do not care about doing research, so everything is sanitized and nice. Dying in childbirth is dumb - it's Disney!!! We're here for fun and romance, not accuracy!!! Who needs panniers under dresses or strict French nobility structure? I'm here to tell a Nice Story.
> 
> Anyway, this is a story about Belle and Adam's kids as they grow up and find love of their own, and enjoy life as a family. I Just Like It
> 
> The children and their ages are:  
> -Rose (16)  
> -Leonie (15)  
> -Étienne and Clemence (13)  
> -Valerie (12)  
> -Neville (10)  
> -Bellamy (8)  
> -Lunette (7)  
> -Eulalie (6)  
> -Helaine (newly 5)

Rose had never held with the idea that the castle staff was beneath her.

Even calling them “servants” made her itch with discomfort. Princess though she may be, her mother was born and raised a peasant, and by the time she married Rose’s father, he was no snob himself. The staff (which was the only acceptable term to denote their employment in the castle) was family. Rose’s lifelong best friends, Renée and Rafaella, were the daughters of maids, and Rafaella was becoming a castle seamstress in her own right. The royal children grew up amid the brood of staff progeny, many of whom lived right there in the castle with them. Rose and her siblings, three brothers and six sisters, were raised to treat the adult staff with as much respect as any visiting dignitary (in fact, often _more_ respect, due to their father’s disdain for courtly trappings), and were quite close with many of their elders despite the fact that they may wash the children’s laundry or clear their dinner table.

Which was why Rose punched not one, but two boys at the village dance when she overheard them refer to Mrs. Potts as “that old skivvy.”

A strangled “Hey!” drifted up from the flurry of fists and shoving, followed by “Get her off me!”

“Rose!” Struggling to find an opening to pry their friend off, Rafaella, Rose’s sister Leonie, and the gardener’s daughter Claire, darted about, adding to the scene’s chaos. Finally, feeling daring, Leonie hurled herself about her sister’s waist and yanked, sending them both rocketing onto their rears.

Rose was already lurching to her feet, quicker than the boys across the aisle. “Did you hear what they called Mrs. Potts!” she spat, with half a mind (or perhaps three-quarters) to lay into them again.

“Rose?” one of the boys muttered. It appeared they had realized the identity of their assailant.

“No, I didn’t hear what they called Mrs. Potts,” Claire answered, her tone suspicious. Rose was gratified to see her cross her arms in the boys’ direction.

Wheeling on them again, she railed (much too loudly, she recognized belatedly, now that the music had stopped and every eye was on her), “She is the kindest, the most capable, the best woman you would ever be honored to know! You two aren’t worth the dirt on her boots, and you will never, ever use that word to describe one of our friends again.” Fuming, Rose caught sight of Mrs. Potts’ face in the assembly, shuffling around as she moved closer to see what the fuss was about.

“All we said was that she was in the way,” one of the boys replied. The taller one, cheek pink where Rose had hit him, elbowed him with a look of chagrin.

 _“In the way!”_ Before Rose could lunge again, to gasps from the townspeople, her friends had caught her again and were pulling her away.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Rafaella hissed as they drew near the open entrance to the pavilion. “I’ve never seen you hit anyone!”

Rose, breathing heavily, was pulling herself together. Wrestling free from her friends’ arms before they got her outside, she planted her feet. “Apologies,” she called to the gathering at large. “I recognize that was quite unseemly. Carry on. I’ll be showing myself out. I apologize again for the trouble.” She made sure to keep her head high, though she could feel her hair was askew, before making as dignified an exit as she could.

As soon as she was out of eyeshot, Rose began stomping again, tramping over to a stone bench in front of a nearby bakery. Her coterie followed her silently, all wanting to find out what exactly had just happened but not knowing how to broach the topic. Luckily, Rose was perfectly willing to rail about it.

“Those horrible, rude pests…” she muttered, taking a seat on the bench. There was room for at least one of her friends to sit down with her, but Rafaella, Claire, and Leonie remained standing. “Can you believe people can be so inconsiderate?!”

“It _is_ a village affair,” Claire pointed out. “That pavilion is getting to be too small to hold all of Villeneuve. People are always jostling and crowding in there.”

“So you ask her politely to move!” Rose cried. “Or gingerly scoot past her like every _civilized_ person. There’s no call for insulting Mrs. Potts.”

“They insulted Mrs. Potts?” Leonie repeated, still trying to catch up with the events of the last few minutes.

“To be fair, I think those boys would say there was no call for attacking them,” Rafaella laughed. When Rose leveled a glare at her, she added. “I loved it, obviously. Boys often need to be taken down a peg.”

“Yeah, they’ll think twice before crossing a princess again,” Leonie grinned, crossing her arms smugly.

“You know, I don’t regret it, and I’d probably do it again, but I don’t really know _how_ I did it,” Rose mused, examining her ever-so-slightly throbbing fists. “I’ve never been in a fight before. It was… refreshing.”

“I certainly hope you won’t do it again,” a new voice said from behind the girls. Surprised, Rose’s friends jumped apart to reveal Mrs. Potts, hands on her hips and expression grim.

“I think I’ll head back to the dancing,” Claire announced, prodding Rafaella in the back. Leonie backed away with them, her eyes communicating “uh-oh” to her unfortunate sister.

Seeing that look on Mrs. Potts’ face made Rose want to hang her head, but she stood (or sat) her ground. Mrs. Potts held her gaze for quite a while before finally breaking it with a sigh and sitting down beside her. Rose scooted on the bench to make room for the somewhat wider lady.

“Don’t suppose your parents will let me chaperone any more village outings,” Mrs. Potts said frankly.

“Wh - I laid into _two_ boys and that’s what you’re worried about?” Rose replied, holding back a grin. “I thought you were going to threaten to tell my parents and give me extra - ”

“Oh, I am,” Mrs. Potts cut her off. “We should consider fighting lessons for your punishment; but you might end up enjoying that a little too much. Honestly, Rose, I’d never have believed it of you! Never seen a fit of temper out of you since you were a little girl, and then all of a sudden you’re punching and kicking in the dust!”

“That’s hardly my fault,” Rose offered, cowed, “the pavilion floor is just dirty - ”

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Mrs. Potts said, cutting her eyes at the princess. Of all Belle and Adam’s children, their eldest was the most perfect mix of the two. Adam’s blue eyes shone out of a well-proportioned face with Belle’s nose and his mouth, framed by Belle’s exact shade of brown hair, tousled though it was right now. “What on earth could have possessed you to do such a thing? I can only assume someone said something nasty about your father - ”

It was Rose’s turn to interrupt. “They were saying nasty things about _you!_ Telling you to get out of the way, calling you a skivvy - ”

Mrs. Potts chuckled. “But I am a skivvy, dear.” At Rose’s stricken look, she hastened to make herself clear. “Your family treats their staff with the most respect I’ve ever known from any employer around. We get excellent pay, lodging if we want it, good working conditions, and even an education, thanks to your mother. We are still your employees, though, Rose dear. I am very grateful for your love, and it is certainly returned, but my goodness, child, if you go around beating up everyone who calls me a servant or the like, you’ll have to give me a good whack too!”

Chagrined, Rose tried not to let the tears gather in her eyes. “I didn’t think about it, I just did it,” she explained, feeling the color rise to her cheeks as she realized how thoroughly she had embarrassed herself in front of her beloved village. Her mother had grown up here, had invested a great deal of time and care making it into a place everyone loved, where there was a home for everyone and plenty of reason to make merry. Rose herself had friends here in Villeneuve, who had just seen her apparently lose her mind.

Mrs. Potts chucked her under the chin. “You girls just don’t wait to get something done, do you?” she smiled. “Why, the first time I met your mother, she was making a rope out of cloth to escape out of a high window when she hadn’t even been in the castle for an hour.”

Rose laughed. “You’re going to tell Maman and Papa?” she asked, just to be sure.

“Afraid so, pet,” Mrs. Potts nodded. “I have duty of care while you’re out of their sight. Besides, if _my_ children had never gotten punished when they were young, they’d be the terror of the town now.”

“Chip? Never.”

“Especially Chip,” Mrs. Potts said somberly. With a quiet heave, she got herself off the bench and looked down at Rose. “I think this would be an appropriate time to take our leave, don’t you?” Rose nodded. “You stay here, chicken. I’ll go about collecting our companions.”

Mrs. Potts made for the dancing pavilion, leaving Rose to wonder if she should already disobey orders and get up to fetch her siblings; her friends were back at the dance, but several of her sisters and a brother were at Grandpére Maurice’s house in the other direction. The children all loved coming into the village, but the young ones didn’t have quite the interest in dancing that Rose did.

Before she could make up her mind to gather her siblings so Mrs. Potts wouldn’t have to, Leonie stepped out from behind the corner of the bakery. Rose watched her as she slowly took a seat on the bench.

Leonie leaned her head back against the bakery wall. Rose tilted her head too, but only sideways, so she could get a good look at her sister. Her hair was quite dark, several shades darker than Rose’s, and her eyes were hazel, a color neither of their parents shared. Rose knew that sometimes Leonie wished she looked more like Maman, and she’d tried to lighten her hair in the sun, but it remained stubbornly mahogany. Rose frowned. Leonie was only a year younger than she was, only fifteen. She didn’t deserve to feel badly about herself.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Leonie said, taking in the stars. She was notorious for spending almost all her time out of doors, but Rose knew she rarely got to stay outside at night. Once dinner was over, it was too late to go out again. Tonight must be a rare treat for her.

But that didn’t mean Rose could resist ruining it. “You’re an eavesdropping sneak,” she accused lightly. A wide grin cracked Leonie’s starlight-bathed face. “You didn’t go back to the pavilion. Our friends have probably been looking for you.”

“Yeah, but I figured you might want some company after Mrs. Potts reamed you,” Leonie replied. “Of course, she didn’t end up doing that, but. It was cramped with everybody in there and I wanted to breathe the fresh air.”

“You? No.” Rose made a face of mock astonishment. Leonie knocked her shoulder.

“Well, are you happy after your destructive actions?” Leonie interrogated, raising an eyebrow. “Shall I expect to deliver your meals to you in a locked tower? Only let you see daylight once a year on your birthday?”

“I doubt Papa or Maman will be that cruel doling out my penance,” Rose rolled her eyes. Although… a swirl of apprehension curled in her stomach. “...Will they?”

“Not unless you tell _them_ you find fighting ‘refreshing’,” Leonie assured her. “You look awful. Let me at least fix your hair. It’s sticking all out like an exotic bird.”

“Excuse me?”

The girls whirled, Leonie’s hand still in Rose’s disheveled hair, to see one of the stricken boys from the fight standing a respectful distance away. It was the taller one who, Rose now remembered, had sustained a kick very close to a place that could have incapacitated him for the night. The ashamed blush crept back into her face.

Rose and Leonie waited for him to say something else, but he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. Someone hidden behind him jabbed him in the back, making his chest bow out, and hissed, “Go on! What are you waiting for?”

He took a few shuffling steps forward, finally taking a hand out of his pocket to muss his hair sheepishly. “I’m here to apologize for… all that. In there.” He gestured lamely to the pavilion. “We shouldn’t have said that about… your friend. We shouldn’t have… fought you? I didn’t know you were the princess, or I - no, not that we would have fought you - ”

“Oh, give over,” the girl from behind him said, pushing him gently out of the way. She gave the girls a friendly smile. “I’m Isabelle, that’s my brother Gaspar. He thought you were going to have him executed or something for hitting royalty, but I reminded him you started the fight, even if he deserved it. I can tell a sensible person when I see one. Anyway, he wanted to come apologize just in case, the idiot,” she finished, clearly meaning the insult in the affectionate way of close siblings.

When Rose didn’t seem eager to reply after a few beats, Leonie rose from the bench. “It’s all right, my sister’s an idiot too,” she answered in her stead. (“Hey!”) “She’s still in a bit of a mood from it all, but no executions today. We’re much more relaxed than that.”

Isabelle laughed. Gaspar continued to look awkward. Leonie felt the irrepressible need to diffuse the tension. “I’m Leonie,” she introduced herself (possibly unnecessarily, but it was still important to be polite), offering her hand to Isabelle.

“I love your dress,” Isabelle gushed, eyeing the green-and-blue ensemble.

“Thanks!” Leonie smiled, holding her hand out to Gaspar. My, was he tall. He hesitated just long enough to make Leonie doubt her reception, but then quickly grasped her hand before she could draw it away. He moved their joined grip up and down like a stubborn water pump. Leonie tried not to give away her amusement.

“Gaspar,” he introduced himself, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“I’ve heard,” Leonie answered jokingly. “Um, I’m Leonie.”

Gaspar let out a soft chuckle. “I’ve heard.” At last, he seemed to realize how he was manhandling her arm and let go, his smile fading with the action.

Rose, who had tamed her hair somewhat, stood up from the bench. “Here comes a way that I’ll accept your apology,” she said archly, gesturing to the end of the street. Mrs. Potts and their siblings were coming from the direction of Grandpére’s house, along with Rafaella and Claire. Clemence, Valerie, and Neville traipsed along in varying stages of sleepiness, Lunette asleep in Claire’s arms even though she was almost too big to hold.

“Off to the carriage, dears,” Mrs. Potts called to Rose and Leonie.

“In a moment,” Rose called back. Turning her attention to Gaspar, she gave her orders. “Apologize to _her_ , not to me. I recognize I owe you my own apology, but you’re not getting it until - ”

Gaspar was already off.

Rose and Leonie turned to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Isabelle as, just out of earshot, her brother made a speech of some length to a surprised Mrs. Potts.

“Well,” Rose remarked. “That was eager.”

“He’s a good fellow, really,” Isabelle assured them, her hands clasped in front of her. “He just does silly things sometimes. And works himself into anxiety. And doesn’t have any social skills. And can’t defend himself in a fight.”

“That’s clearly my fault,” Rose interjected. “I got a little too excited in the moment.”

Leonie scoffed. “Oh, yes, you’re a regular champion boxer in your spare time. You got lucky, Rosie, and you shouldn’t count on it happening again.” With that, she batted Rose on the shoulder and went to join the castle contingent with Gaspar.

“She’s so annoying,” Rose grumbled. Isabelle laughed. After a moment of thought, Rose turned to her. “Well, I’d better be off. My punishment awaits at home. See you around?”

Isabelle’s surprise showed all over her face. “See… see me? Oh, well… certainly!”

“No telling when we’ll be in town again, seeing as I roughed up fine citizens,” Rose shrugged, ambling over to her family. “But I hope to be around for the next dance!”

Isabelle gave her a wave as she retreated.

“Make a new friend?” Clemence asked, curling her arms around one of Rose’s. Rose nodded. “Mrs. Potts is making one too.” Mrs. Potts was politely trying to extricate herself from Gaspar’s earnest and repetitive apologies and promises of repayment. Rose tried not to roll her eyes.

“We should be off,” she cut in pointedly. “Children to put to bed and all that.” Her brother Neville gave her a sleepy punch in the knee in protest. “Hey, I just won a fight with that boy and one other, so don’t mess with me,” she muttered good-naturedly. Neville silently took her free hand.

Rose looked up - and up, and up - to meet Gaspar’s eyes. “Sorry I hit you,” she said sincerely. Clemence’s head jerked up in bewilderment, but Rose ignored her sister. “I regret it now and am sure to regret it more later. It was nice to meet you, though. Er, if you see your friend - ”

“I’ll pass the message on.” It was too dark in the street to see Gaspar’s expression, but his voice carried no hostility.

Rose nodded her thanks, and they took their leave, continuing on their way to the carriage at the gates of the village. “Bye, Isabelle!” Leonie shouted back before they turned the corner onto the next street. “Bye, Gaspar!” The tall figure of the boy at the end of the lane returned her mad wave.

“What was all that about?” Rafaella asked, her arm keeping a nodding Valerie aloft and walking.

Rose looked back at her best friend with a smile. “You’d never believe it, but punching someone in the face turns out to be a great way to make a friend or two.”

“Rose!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Potts.”


	2. Chip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Rose’s father once told her how silent the library used to be.

“It was always a special place to me,” he had elaborated, “but I thought that meant I had to keep it to myself, lock it away. Of course, I learned I was wrong.”

“What changed?” Rose had asked.

That special smile had crossed Papa’s face. “Your mother came.”

Whatever Maman had done, the library was by no means a solemn place anymore. Still quiet enough for comfortable reading or working, certainly, but the joke around the castle was that if you sat in the library long enough on any given day, you could watch every person in the building pass through at some point.

Today, Monday, was the only day all ten royal children had their lessons in the library at the same time. Rose and her tutor, Mlle. Sylvie, were nearly halfway through Dante’s _Divine Comedy_ , while Leonie was practicing her Spanish. Étienne and Clemence, the twins, were having a miserable time at the back table studying arithmetic, both of their least favorite subject. Valerie, who had the indisputable honor of being Madame de Garderobe’s singing pupil, was spending today working on music theory with the maestro. Neville’s eyes were glazed over while the boys’ tutor tried to hammer home the thrilling history of ancient Egypt, and Bellamy was doodling beautifully all over the page he was supposed to be taking notes on. And closest to the doors, the little girls, Lunette, Eulalie, and Helaine were listening raptly to the storybook their young teacher was reading aloud to them. Helaine sat very straight and tried to look very invested, as she had just turned five years old and had only just started lessons with all her big siblings.

Rose had a habit of tapping her feet on the floor, much to her siblings’ annoyance. Well, it wasn’t like she could help it - they just wanted to move, and it was a harmless outlet for her energy, so why should they care? By lunchtime, though, it was quite clear that everyone was itching to get out of her vicinity. As soon as the twins’ tutor told them they could go, Étienne sprang out of his seat, cried, “Thank _God_ ,” and speed-walked across the library and out the door, his bright blonde curls bouncing in his hurry.

“How rude!” Rose finally got to exclaim when they had all gathered again in the dining room.

“That was mean, Étienne,” Eulalie added, ever the mannerly child.

“Do your feet ever stop moving?” Étienne ignored their reprimands, unfolding his napkin on his lap.

Rose was in no mood for the snide remarks. “I know a place my foot can move,” she said pointedly, taking her seat.

“Where?” Bellamy asked, his innocent eyes boring into her from across the table.

“Nowhere, Bell.”

“I know where,” Clemence muttered, out-of-sorts with her twin as she often was.

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly,” she chimed in, “there are little ears here.”

“You mean big ears,” said Lunette, who was eerily perceptive for a seven-year-old, “attached to little minds. That is what you meant, isn’t it?”

“My mind’s not little!” darling Helaine protested.

Valerie and Neville exchanged a despairing look as the table descended into arguments.

Fortunately for everyone, neither Maman nor Papa showed up to lunch with them; Rose suspected Papa got stuck doing his most loathed boring work in his study and Maman was caught up in some new invention of hers. By the time plates were cleared, Étienne wasn’t the only one in a sour mood. All ten children got up in their own huff and dispersed among the castle grounds, eager to be free of each other’s company for as long as possible.

Étienne made a beeline for the library, so Rose opted to flee outside via the rearmost staff entrance. The February day was cold, but the ground was dry and the bright sun had held over from yesterday, so she stuck it out.

They had gotten in so late last night from the village that Mrs. Potts wasn’t able to talk to her parents before morning, and Rose hoped that with their various occupations they still hadn’t been told what she’d done. At any rate, she hadn’t been summoned or sought after by Maman or Papa. The thought made Rose feel uncomfortable, rather than giving her relief at not being punished yet. She’d rather get it all over with.

Rose began making a slow circuit around the castle, going in the direction she thought least likely to cross paths with Leonie, who she knew would be out in the fresh air as well. She loved her siblings, really she did, but frankly, was there anything more sisterly than annoying each other to death? They could go from having a sincere heart-to-heart the night before to nearly starting a food fight this afternoon with most of the hours in between taken up by sleep.

“Hey! Rose!”

Chip, Mrs. Potts’ son, was backing out of the garden door up ahead, dragging a canvas bag of compost. Rose waved, speeding up her pace until she was closer to him. Chip slung the bag over his shoulder and joined her.

“Mum told me what you did last night,” he grinned, to Rose’s dismay.

“I’ll never live this down!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. “The only time I ever intentionally hurt someone, and it’s in front of the entire village! I’m surprised all of France hasn’t heard by now, at the rate this is spreading.”

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” Chip reassured her. “Everyone knows you, you must’ve been at nearly every dance since you were old enough to attend. You’ve never done anything untoward or rude, until now. Besides, I was just in town this morning and the loading crew at the market said those boys deserved it. Well, at least one of them.”

_I certainly hope that one isn’t Gaspar,_ Rose thought. _I’d hate for Isabelle to have a brother people would talk about like that._

“What are you doing carrying that smelly thing around?” Rose changed the subject. The compost bag was really incredibly foul, and it was driving her mad. “The garden is _that_ way,” she reminded him with a finger pointed behind them.

Chip hefted the bag off his shoulder. “I thought I’d take a stroll with my friend,” he said, somewhat testily, “who is too much of a mysophobe to consort with dirty old me.” He stuck his nose in the air in an exaggerated way, so Rose knew he wasn’t too peeved.

Still, eager to mollify him, she offered, “I’ll go back with you if you like. Stand there while you get rid of that gunk and then we can walk.”

“You’re just going to stand to the side and not offer any kind of help, Princess?”

“Hey, being a princess has nothing to do with the fact that that bag of rot is disgusting.”

Rose did indeed wait and watch as Chip emptied the compost into several rows of the garden. Of course, the wintry ground was still frozen, but dumping the castle’s food refuse onto it year-round would make it more fertile when the spring thaw came around. Rose knew Clemence was eager to get her hands dirty again, and her friend Claire and her gardener father had only indoor work to do during the winter months, growing vegetables in the greenhouse and repotting decorative shrubs. Still, the garden would be in full bloom again soon, only adding beauty to Rose’s home.

She walked on with Chip with that thought in her mind and a new spring in her step. He glanced at her sidelong.

“I was ready to offer you more reassurances, but you seem to be out of your bad mood,” Chip said.

“My birthday’s coming up, though we do have to endure the ball,” Rose reminded him. “But then spring is around the corner and the sun will actually be _warm_ …”

“Didn’t we just have a birthday party?” Chip asked. “There are way too many of you.”

Rose made an indignant yelp. “You can talk! How many brothers and sisters do you have, I can’t even count them!”

“That’s because they’re all married and employed and gone, while yours are all always running around this place and being impossible to ignore.”

“Don’t remind me,” Rose grumbled. “It’s been a trying morning. Anyway, I think it’s sort of nice, me and Helaine having close birthdays. The youngest shoots up, and then the oldest matures even further.”

“Mature,” Chip scoffed. Rose gave him a shove.

“Shut up, old man.”

“Old! I’m twenty-three!”

They continued bickering until, from a high window in the west tower, a voice called, “Daughter dear! I have been looking for you!”

The two companions craned their necks. Rose’s mother was half dangling out of the window, bracing herself on the sill while her hair blew across her face, making it impossible to tell if she was angry or not. Rose felt that sinking sensation of dread.

“Coming,” she called back. “Great,” she muttered to Chip. “Time to see what kind of atonement I have to make for my destructive actions.”

“Maybe you won’t get that birthday ball after all,” Chip gloated.

“Ha! Nice try. My parents don’t like dealing with the noble echelon too often, but they have to invite all those lords sometime. A royal birthday is the perfect excuse to have them all in the same room, mingle as briefly as possible so as to give _everyone_ a turn, and then chivvy them off back to where they came from, not to be seen until the next time they can’t put it off any longer.”

Chip’s brow furrowed. “But they weren’t here for Helaine’s birthday a few weeks ago.”

“She _is_ five years old, Chip. Not exactly a brilliant conversationalist. Yet.”

“I disagree. I think she’s made some excellent points about the state of the castle menagerie.”

“If you mean the fact that we don’t have enough puppy dogs, believe me, I’ve heard her treatise.”

Chip laughed as they rounded the last corner of the castle to the front doors.

“Well, here I go,” Rose announced, steeling herself. “If I get locked up and only released on my birthday, I’ll see you in a month.”

Totally baffled, Chip blinked. “What?”

Rose shook her head. “Joke with Leonie. See you later.”

She climbed the front steps to meet her mother, intent on keeping her head high and bearing her parents’ disappointment with fortitude.

* * *

“Come sit down,” Maman beckoned before Rose could even say anything. Rose closed the door, mortified of anyone hearing her scolding.

When she had sat on the sofa next to her, her mother sighed. “You won’t even look at me? That’s a good sign of your repentance, I suppose.”

Rose did look up, at that. “What did Mrs. Potts tell you?” she mumbled. She’d been steeling herself for this all day, her parents’ dismay, but actually seeing the concern in her mother’s eyes was worse. She hated letting Maman and Papa down, they all did. At least Papa wasn’t here to make the shame even worse.

Maman raised an eyebrow. “The truth, I know that,” she replied in a challenging tone. “If you are about to try telling a different tale, then I’ll know that there really is no hope for you, my dear.”

“No! I just - ” Rose could feel spleen rising in her, her innermost self indignant at being thought even worse of. “I’m already angry enough at myself, must I be misinterpreted as well?” She could feel the hot color on her cheeks, the only expression of her frustration that she’d allow herself.

Maman reached over to put a hand on her knee. “All right,” she acknowledged. “Then tell me what you were feeling. Why would you do it?”

“I’ve seen those boys in town, and at dances, but I don’t know them, I’m sure they’re very nice,” Rose established, wanting to make it clear that she bore Gaspar and his friend no ill will in general. “But they talked down on Mrs. Potts, and… it was like my body just did it. I didn’t really mean to _hurt_ anyone, I just… I wanted them to never be rude to any of my family again,” she finished in a mutter. How juvenile of a sentiment, in clear hindsight.

“Mrs. Potts _is_ family, I agree,” Maman said quietly. “But from her account, it doesn’t sound like they were terribly rude to her. Clearly misinformed if that’s how they think we regard her here - ” she held up a hand to stave off Rose’s protests - “but not exactly criminal. Rose, your reaction was far out of proportion.”

“I know,” Rose sighed, backing down. “I know that, I do. But in my defense, it was for the honor of someone I love.” She watched her mother, hoping her plea to pathos might get her off easy…

It didn’t. “That makes it worse,” Maman countered. Drat. “Rose, I must admit to being surprised that you’re defending your misdeeds. You yourself said that you didn’t think, you just acted.”

“No, Maman, no,” Rose hurried to set straight, “that isn’t what I’m trying to do. I know it was wrong, I had to sit and think about it all night! I know I’m going to have to be punished, but I’m already sorry enough. I even apologized to one of the boys last night after it happened!”

“One of them?” her mother repeated.

“Well, I haven’t even seen the other one since,” Rose shrugged. “Gaspar was quite understanding, though. He even apologized to Mrs. Potts for how he talked about her!”

Maman was shaking her head, but Rose couldn’t understand why. How did she keep digging the hole she found herself in even deeper? “I’m glad for that,” Maman said finally, seeming to make up her mind about something. “I only hope you’ve gained some understanding as well.” She reached up to stroke her daughter’s cheek. “Did they hit you back?” she asked with a smirk.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Yes, thank you so much for caring,” she admitted, knowing that the teasing look in her mother’s eyes meant she was out of hot water for the moment. Their family was very loving, and that meant they had grown up taking all kinds of ribbing from each other. When other noble families visited, Rose saw the looks of barely-veiled surprise as they watched her siblings and parents interact with no hint of formality whatsoever. From what she’d picked up from her mother and father, they all had Maman’s “common” upbringing to thank for that. “It’s only my arm, and my hands,” she continued, flexing her fingers, which had gone from gently pulsing last night to stiff and sore today. There were even abrasions on her knuckles, though the skin hadn’t split.

“That’s what happens when you use them to speedily make contact with someone else’s person,” Maman hinted heavily. “Can you write?”

“Probably. I haven’t tried yet,” Rose replied, examining her fingers again.

“Good. Come,” Maman directed, standing up and gesturing to her desk. They were in her workshop, which was really just a repurposed parlor in the west wing, where Maman tinkered and planned and stored all her projects. Several failed experiments lined the walls, though Rose was sure her mother hadn’t given up on them entirely yet - otherwise why keep them around?

Rose sat at the desk, bemused, while Maman cleared away disheveled piles of paper. “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

Her mother opened a drawer and pulled out two pieces of thick cardstock, which she set in front of Rose on the now-empty surface. “Where did I…” she mumbled, turning to the papers she had just moved and shuffling through them. “Aha!” She pulled out a half-sheet and placed it at the back of the desk, where it was propped up by the wall.

Rose read it. It was the wording for the invitations to her birthday ball. “Oh, Maman, no,” she groaned, realization dawning on her.

“You’re inviting those boys,” Maman confirmed, jabbing a finger at the blank cardstock in front of Rose. “And you get to compose the invitations yourself.”

“Can’t we just get them printed?” Rose tried.

“Too late,” Maman crowed, “they’ve already been sent out.” Of course, the ball was in less than a month - the invitations would have to travel quite a long time to make it to all the dignitaries whose favor they had to court.

“But then - ”

“You can deliver these yourself,” Maman said firmly, anticipating Rose’s next argument.

_If this is my punishment,_ Rose reminded herself, _I’m far better off than I could have been. Maman clearly knows I never want to see either of them again. Social embarrassment is better than not being allowed to dance, I suppose. I still get my ball._

“Can I write three?” she requested.

Maman was taken aback. “Three? You punched _three - ?”_

“No,” Rose shook her head hurriedly. “Gaspar has a sister. She’s very agreeable and she’s basically the reason I got to apologize in the first place.”

“I’d like to meet her,” Maman mused, and handed Rose a third sheet to inscribe.


	3. Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose's punishment commences.

Rose looked at the house number again, stepped up to the door, and knocked clearly.

The street she was on was moderately bustling, out of the main thoroughfare of Villeneuve but not by much. Across the street was a butcher’s shop with a line out the door, next door’s window displayed ribbons of all sizes and colors. Rose always found the intermingling of shops and residential houses in town to be somewhat confusing, but she trusted the directions she got from one of Grandpére’s friends. She stood on the doorstep, out of the traffic flow, and waited.

After a minute or so, the door was flung open. Isabelle stood across the threshold, wearing a half-tied apron and a smudge of ink on her forehead.

“Rose!” she blurted, totally startled. Belatedly, she curtsied (Rose had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes) and opened the door wide. “Please, do come in.”

“Thanks, but I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Rose replied. “I’m actually calling to ask if you’ll give me an address or directions to where I can find the other boy.”

Isabelle nodded, needing no further elaboration. “Then you _are_ staying,” she grinned. “He’s right next door. I’ll take you through.”

It was Rose’s turn to be startled. She let Isabelle usher her inside the house, but her mind was running riot with reasons to turn back. She could see now that the house had been knocked through at some point and connected to the shop next door, and the open archway to the shop was drawing nearer very quickly. Rose knew she had to face her other victim eventually, but she was hoping to have a long stroll through town to solidify her plan of action, not to find him just in the other room. She would not deny that she was embarrassed, and the rest of her resistance was due to her being her father’s daughter, stubborn to the deepest core and still convinced she was right. Though, thinking on it, that was very descriptive of her mother as well. _No wonder I’m in this fix,_ Rose thought as she emerged in a hot, bustling print shop.

“Mathieu!” Isabelle called, retying her crooked apron. “You’ll never believe who’s here to see you.”

Rose self-consciously straightened her dress. In the corner she could see Gaspar, sweating while heaving an enormous frame onto a press. Another boy, whose sandy hair she recognized, was clipping a series of wet papers onto a line suspended from one wall to the opposite one. This must be Mathieu.

“You,” he said, and several other workers’ heads turned. Rose told herself that the heat in her cheeks was from the stifling room. “I mean, Your Highness,” he amended, bowing as shallowly as he possibly could. In a way, Rose liked him the more for it.

“Mathieu, I take it,” she greeted, inclining her head politely. The line of people on the other side of the shop’s counter were now starting to take notice of the encounter, so with a strategic shake of her head to create a veil of hair between her face and the door, she gestured to the open archway she’d just entered through. “May I have a word, please?”

Mathieu strode past her, giving her a good view of a still-florid bruise on his cheek and temple. _Goodness, I caused damage,_ Rose thought, not without a small stirring of pride. She tamped it down as soon as she was done entertaining it.

In the relative quiet of the residence, Rose and Mathieu stood a good distance apart from each other. Rose decided there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. “I’ve been thinking about my actions last week incessantly. There was no call for me to lose all control like I did, and I’m truly sorry for it. Is… is your face - ”

“It’s healing,” Mathieu said baldly.

Rose nodded. “Well, I’ll get to the point - I turn seventeen this month, and my birthday ball is the first weekend of spring.” She pulled the handwritten invitations from a pocket in her dress. “You are cordially invited to attend, with transportation to and from the castle provided.”

Mathieu looked over the card with eyebrows raised high, clearly not prepared for this situation. “I - well… why did you give me - ?”

“Three,” Rose supplied. “For you and Gaspar, and I convinced my parents to invite Isabelle as well.”

Mathieu shook his head. “Thank you, Your Highness, but I’d rather not go. Thanks all the same.” He held the invitations out to give them back.

“Oh.” Rose’s tentative smile fell. Of course he wouldn’t want to come to a ball celebrating the girl who had hurt him. Before she could feel too foolish, though, she made her way to the shop’s archway. “Well, I’ll at least invite your friends.”

Rose strode back into the shop, making a beeline for the corner where Gaspar was working. Isabelle, eyeing them over her shoulder from her post at the counter, abandoned the customer there to join her brother and the princess.

“Isabelle,” a broad man with the same shade of hair as Isabelle’s barked, interrupting Rose’s repeated explanation of the upcoming ball, “don’t you go running off! The last thing I need is more of my workers swanning off like this right now!”

“Papa,” Isabelle replied in a tone of utmost daughterly grievance, “the princess is inviting us to the castle!” She gestured theatrically at Rose, who strove not to run and hide behind any heavy equipment.

The man’s face turned beet red. “Oh - begging your pardon, Your Highness,” he choked, nearly tripping as he bowed.

“It’s all right, it’s all quite all right,” Rose stammered, ultimately overcome by all the attention she was being exposed to today. Village dances weren’t like this; everyone was on an equal footing those nights. Here, in the middle of a public shop, she felt examined and inspected. “Please come, all of you,” she stressed, thrusting the invitations into Isabelle’s hands. With one last hurried wave, she stumbled out of the print shop, rushed through the house, and flung the door wide, not thinking to check for any pedestrians she might hit. Luckily, the street was less crowded now, and the door made its arc without connecting with any unsuspecting heads.

Rose double-checked the direction she was meant to be going, straightened her skirts, and set off for Grandpére’s house, hoping her face would be less red when she got there.

* * *

Once a month, Bellamy had an art lesson with Grandpére Maurice. Since Maman and Papa were sending Rose into Villeneuve anyway, she was tasked with getting her eight-year-old brother to and from Grandpére’s.

When she reached his house and mounted the porch, she heard Bellamy and Grandpére laughing. Peeking in the window, she watched her little golden-haired brother squeeze a half-formed sculpture back into a lump of wet clay.

“Yes, that’s it,” Grandpére chuckled. “If you make a mistake, all you have to do is remember how you did it and start again. This is how we learn as we grow, by keeping the times that we’ve gone wrong in our minds and being careful not to follow the same actions.”

Rose smiled, at last feeling the tension ease from her shoulders. She swung the door open, creaking into the natural light of the cramped cottage.

“Don’t mind me, I’ll just be upstairs,” she called, rushing up to the small second floor landing before either Grandpére or Bellamy could look up. Luckily, these artistic types tended to get engrossed in their work, and they barely seemed to notice her come in. Bellamy was already reshaping his clay.

Rose ducked into her mother’s old room. It was a tiny space, so plain that Rose could hardly believe Maman had grown up in it. She knew, of course, that most of her belongings had been moved to the castle when she married Papa, but even in the arrangement of the furniture Rose could see a different person than the mother she knew.

The bed, pushed right over to the window to make it easy to gaze outside, ideal for daydreaming of something more. A small desk covered in scratches and scribbles, but not the focused kind Rose knew from home - etchings made when Maman ran out of paper and was desperate to get her ideas written before she forgot them - these were more idle, simple doodles, even a cluster of tally marks near the back corner, keeping track of some circumstance long past. A worn tread in the creaky wood floor, evidence of her tendency to pace when she got stuck on an idea, as well as a clear reminder of how painfully little space she’d had at her disposal.

In the castle, Maman had the entire structure at her disposal, though she preferred to confine herself to her workroom, which was nonetheless at least three times the size of the room Rose was standing in. She wandered the grounds, even escaped to the village or the surrounding countryside if she needed further freedom. The entire library was her unspoken territory. Maman’s inventions had been changing different parts of the castle, not only to make things easier for everyone, but to suit her liking, since before Rose was born, and Papa encouraged every single improvement. Maman’s life now, as Rose saw it, was entirely mutable, and every time Rose came to Grandpére’s house, beautifully cozy as it was, she was stricken anew by the clear fact that her mother’s life had not always been the way it was now.

Not for the first time, Rose wondered what life in Villeneuve had been like for her mother. She knew that Maman and Papa had effected many changes, big and small - from hiring only local villagers onto the castle staff to constructing the town library to restructuring the entire taxation system. And yet Rose had never known the village any other way, welcoming and educated as it was now. Her parents had told her of the way Maman had been as good as shunned before she met Papa. Rose knew there were still people that lived in the village who had looked down on her mother as a young lady, but she could never pinpoint who those people were. Had they changed their minds, or did they still harbor resentment of her? Worse still, did they like her even less now that she was royal?

Rose shook her head, as if to physically dispel her musings. Her generation, her friends in the village, didn’t think of her family that way. If they made sure to continue to treat the villagers well, hopefully old prejudices would quickly melt away like the last traces of snow before her birthday.

As if summoned, one of Rose’s village friends popped up in the street. Vianne, the beautiful envy of every girl their age, turned the corner on her way to work at Grandpére’s favorite bakery.

Rose clattered down the stairs and past the art lesson, again unheeded.

“Vianne!” she called just before her friend opened the bakery door. She must have been out on an errand, as she was still wearing her shop apron and carrying a parcel.

Vianne’s pretty face quirked into a smile. “What are you doing here?” she asked by way of greeting. Rose wrapped her in a hug. “Careful, I’m powdered.” She was dusted with flour, contrasting vividly with her dark skin.

“Bellamy is having an art lesson, and I’m just here inviting some people to the ball. I wish I had another invitation for you, but hopefully a verbal request will do.” Rose flashed her friend a winning smile, making her laugh. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“Yes, well,” Vianne demurred. “Since Lorraine had her baby, I’ve been trying to visit them more often,” she explained, referring to her sister, who lived in the next town due west. “And work keeps me on my toes.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back. We all miss you at our sleepovers, Renée complains constantly without you.”

Vianne sighed. “I’ve taken so many days off with Lorraine, I don’t know when I’ll have an available day again. I can ask Monsieur Gilles about the ball, but I don’t know…”

“I can talk to him,” Rose offered.

“Thanks, Rose, but I’d rather you didn’t.” A door creaked behind Rose, and Vianne nodded to direct her attention. “Looks like you’ve got to go, and my break is up. I’ve got to get back to work!” She pitched forward to give Rose a farewell peck on the cheek, and then she was gone.

Rose turned around, giving the bakery door a final wave. Bellamy was skipping down Grandpére’s front stairs, his art tools in the box clutched to his chest.

“Already finished?” Rose asked, unlatching the garden gate so as to meet her brother halfway.

Grandpére, standing on the porch, replied, “Half an hour over time, actually. Most weeks we have to be reminded to put away what we are doing so you can make it home in time for dinner!”

“That’s all right, Grandpére,” Rose laughed. “I had some errands I needed to run anyway.”

“Surely Maman won’t care if we get home late,” Bellamy piped up. “She gets caught up in her projects all the time!”

“She would be a dreadful hypocrite,” Rose agreed in her most serious voice.

“You all get that from me, I’m afraid,” Grandpére chuckled. “A most inconvenient trait. Why, when your mother moved out to live in the castle with your papa, I had to set my loudest clock to chime as a reminder when it was time to eat!” Bellamy and Rose laughed.

“Well, I think we’d best be off,” Rose decided. She darted up the steps to plant a quick kiss on her grandfather’s cheek, ran down them again and took Bellamy’s hand. “Bye, Grandpére! See you soon!”

Grandpére waved. “Have a good night, my loves!”

“So, what did you make today?” Rose asked her brother as they walked down the street.

“I can’t tell you,” Bellamy said.

Rose made a face.

“It’s for your birthday,” he blurted.

“Oh! Well, in that case, don’t say a word. It’s bad luck, and I don’t want a present with bad luck.”

“You have bad enough luck already with your birthday ball.”

Rose nudged him. “Hey, one day you’ll be the one hosting the birthday ball and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

They arrived at the carriage. Rose bundled Bellamy into it before clambering in herself, and settled in to wait until he nodded off; her baby brother fell asleep easier and deeper than anyone she’d ever met. Then she could fall victim to her lingering worries about the looming ball - guests who didn’t want to be there, surprise gifts she knew nothing about, having to entertain nobles looking down on the growing number of her common friends in attendance - in peace.


	4. Before the Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! As you have probably noticed by now, this fic bounces POV between Rose and Leonie - I hope I make the transitions clear enough. Please let me know if it's too jumbled!

The day of the ball was as hectic as it was every time. Rose always seemed to forget how much there was to prepare in order to entertain hundreds of people at once: a satisfying dinner, music by Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza, serving staff placed everywhere they might be needed. Her own dress, designed by herself and Rafaella, had only been finished yesterday - but that was due to Rafaella’s insistence on getting the embroidery _just right_.

Maman and Papa had thrown the first ball in Rose’s honor on her thirteenth birthday. It had been an annual tradition since then, and of course, her siblings insisted on having the same things Rose got. Leonie’s birthday was in May, only two months from now, and the twins had turned thirteen just this past June, adding their first ball to the docket. They weren’t exactly _enjoyable_ events, especially for the birthday child, on whom a lot of the anxiety rested, but in a family of ten children, you would take what attention you could get. And besides, Rose loved nothing more than to dance.

“Your feet are tapping again,” Lucie scolded, crossing behind Rose’s head.

“Sorry,” Rose rolled her eyes in the mirror. Lucie was Plumette and Lumière’s daughter, and had inherited her cosmetic skills from her mother. She squinted at the back of Rose’s head, running the brush through her hair again. “I don’t think I can wait through dinner,” Rose lamented, trying not to budge. “I just want to _move_.”

“As long as there’s a tablecloth, you can probably soft-shoe to your heart’s content and no one will be any the wiser,” Lucie quipped absently, taking hold of Rose’s hair and beginning to twist it elaborately. “I just can’t have you messing me up right now.”

Rose gazed at herself again in the glass, amazed at how a few swipes of paint could make her eyes look larger and her skin shimmery. Lucie had mixed several powders expertly to match the purple of her gown. “Are you coming?” Rose asked her. The staff were free to attend, even if the rude courtiers scoffed.

“No. I’m planning on curling up with a nice hot cup of tea and getting an early night,” Lucie said with relish.

“But if you’re not there, who will I gossip about that horrible baron with?” Rose complained. “Remember last year when he made a pass at Geraldine? She was _fourteen!_ I can’t believe how disgusting men are sometimes.”

“If I tell Chip to keep his eyes peeled for him, will that make you feel better? _Don’t_ nod!”

“Yes, it will. But my point stands. I’ll be bored without you.”

“Oh, please.” Lucie plucked a few strands from the updo so that they floated down around Rose’s face. “Rafaella will be with you. Probably hovering behind you trying to make sure no one rips your dress. You’re all done,” she announced.

“Thank you. Go get your tea.” Rose twirled around twice, relishing the feeling of her dress and hair floating around her.

“Have fun,” Lucie called, waving as she left.

Rose walked toward the entrance hall, where the royal children were dressed, reminded about etiquette, and waiting to receive Grandpére, who was due to arrive an hour before the rest of the guests. She could hear her siblings’ conversation as she descended the stairs.

“I don’t know why you all complain so much. I love balls,” Valerie sighed. “We get to dance and talk all night.”

“That’s all very well for you,” Leonie replied, “but you like that sort of thing. I don’t like all the attention. Étienne obviously would rather have his nose in a book, and Clemence is much less suited to crowds than you.”

“I’m trying not to take that assertion in a bad way,” Clemence said.

“I don’t like wearing a suit,” Neville spoke up, tugging at his collar.

“If it was up to you, you’d either be in pajamas with an apron over them or a sailor suit,” Valerie pointed out.

“I like your suit,” Eulalie piped from Leonie’s left. “I hope you keep it clean.”

“As long as my dress stays clean, I don’t care how dirty the rest of you get,” Rose announced her presence at the bottom of the stairs. Her siblings turned from the open door to look at her. Lunette gasped, her little eyes wide. “Do you like it?” Rose pressed, leaning into a playful pose.

Her dress was floaty and sweeping, certainly far from the styles she knew were preferred at court, but that was why she’d chosen it. If she were wearing a bustle or a sack-back, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the evening at all. It was her party, and she would make sure everyone knew it. The deep purple and light gold color scheme made her eyes stand out and flattered her skin tone.

“It’s pretty,” Neville offered, a ten-year-old boy’s most tactful opinion.

“Thank you for your input,” Rose deadpanned.

Clemence reached out to hold her hand. “Twirl,” she instructed, lifting their clasped hands so Rose could spin beneath them.

“Isn’t Grandpére here yet?” Rose asked, nearly tripping over a whirling Helaine, copying her oldest sister.

“I’m sure he won’t be much longer,” Leonie assured everyone, dodging out of the way of Lunette and Eulalie, who were beginning to pirouette around Rose as well. It almost looked like they were performing a choreographed routine, three little girls twirling in unison in the middle of flaring skirts.

“He’s almost an hour late,” Valerie pointed out.

“That’s why we tell him an earlier time than it actually starts,” Étienne returned. “So that he has time to run as late as he always does and still get here on time.”

The restlessness pervading the hall was chafing at Leonie. Couldn’t her siblings have a little patience? Who of them hadn’t had a late day before?

“I’m going to walk down the drive,” she said, already moving to the open doors.

Her siblings’ chatter diminished as she descended the stairs in the evening light, fresh air already improving her temper. Leonie never liked staying indoors too long, comfortable though her home might be. The main drive was quite long; if she kept a moderate pace, she could probably make her sojourn last ten minutes.

Just as Leonie reached the junction of the drive and the main road, a carriage made the turn. She waved happily, catching a glimpse of her grandfather’s white hair and abstracted gaze. Grandpére caught sight of her and waved back, passing her by quickly. Leonie turned back toward the castle, picking up her pace now that Grandpére would be waiting inside.

The placid sounds of insect chirps and rustling bushes were interrupted again as another carriage approached. _Oh no, the guests have started arriving._ Leonie was meant to be in the receiving line with her family. She forced herself not to break into a run, but she only made it to the bottom of the stone staircase when the carriage came to a stop at the end of the drive. Only then did she notice that this was another of their own carriages, identical to the one Grandpére had passed her in. For a moment, she just stood there, mystified - could it still be Grandpére? Why wouldn’t he have gotten out? - but then the door opened, and out stepped…

“Gaspar?”

The poor boy looked up, saw Leonie, missed the carriage step, and tumbled to the ground. With a yelp, Leonie ran to help him up.

“Are you all right?” Leonie cried, wrapping a hand around Gaspar’s arm and steadying him while he extricated his foot from the step, connected to the bottom of the carriage by thin iron rods.

“Oh, you oaf,” Isabelle said, now that she had room to poke her head out of the vehicle. “You do know how to make an entrance.”

“Sorry,” Gaspar muttered. Straightening up and looking down at Leonie from his considerable height, he repeated, “I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me. I wasn’t paying attention - ”

“No, it was my fault!” Leonie talked over him. “I’m the one who distracted you. Please accept my apologies.” Suddenly, she realized she was still holding his arm, and she let go as if it burned.

“Are you two done?” Isabelle deadpanned from the carriage. Gaspar and Leonie started. “I would _love_ to get out of this glorified wooden box as soon as possible,” Isabelle hinted even more heavily.

“Sorry,” Leonie laughed, taking two steps back. Gaspar followed her and stood close. “This isn’t how I wanted to bid you welcome.”

“This isn’t how I wanted to arrive,” Gaspar said as Isabelle dismounted from the carriage. He looked down sheepishly at his simple suit, the dark gray fabric dusty down his left side where he’d fallen. Leonie reached up to brush a piece of gravel off his shoulder.

“We can show you to a room to get cleaned up, if you like,” she offered. This was the first time she’d really been able to look at him, their first meeting having been in a dark street. She hadn’t been able to discern the striking green color of his eyes until now.

“Er, it’s only dust,” Gaspar dismissed. “I’ll be fine - begging your pardon, Your Highness.” His eyes widened in belated realization, and he bent into a hurried bow.

“Oh, you needn’t…” Leonie stammered, disconcerted by the formality. Much like Rose, she was of a nontraditional school of thought; their parents had brought them up with no greater wish than that their children should have friends, and their familiarity with all the denizens of the castle blurred the lines of propriety that were so rigid in other royal households. Leonie understood in theory that courtesies were due to her as a princess, but in practice, it all seemed so silly. “You’re my friend,” she protested lamely, putting a hand to Gaspar’s elbow to get him to rise from the bow. “That goes for all of you,” she added, noticing that Isabelle was rising from a curtsy.

“How are we supposed to greet you, then?” she asked cheekily, moving to help Gaspar brush himself off. “A rousing slap on the back?”

“We may be able to find some middle ground,” Leonie said wryly. “And you must be Rose’s other friend,” she directed to the boy who emerged from the coach after Isabelle.

“I wouldn’t say that, Your Highness,” he replied. He made a bow as far as her shoulder height before straightening stiffly, clearly torn between his manners and what Leonie had just told his friends about bowing.

“Then why did you come?” Isabelle shot back slyly. “You didn’t have to accept the invitation.”

“Didn’t I?” the boy countered. “It’s the punishment for what happened at the - the last dance, isn’t it? You expect me to disobey a royal summons? No offense meant,” he directed to Leonie.

She raised an eyebrow. “It is a consequence, that’s true. For Rose’s actions. Though, if you ask me, it’s not a punishment for her. She was all too glad to have more people to invite to the ball. I didn’t get your name,” she added.

The boy was trying to hide his surprise and not succeeding. “Mathieu.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Er, excuse me?” another voice interjected from the carriage. “I could use a hand.”

Mathieu moved aside jerkily, offering a hand to help the girl out.

“Vianne!” Leonie exclaimed, taken aback. “You came!”

“Of course I came! Rose invited me!” Vianne was dressed in a lovely dusky pink gown, the color soft against her dark skin.

“You’re a vision,” Leonie gushed, pulling her into a hug. “Everyone’s going to be so excited to see you!”

“You’re sweet.” Vianne pulled away just as the sound of wheels on gravel met Leonie’s ears again.

“Oh no, I’m meant to be in the receiving line!” she hissed, making for the stairs. When she realized no one was following her, she turned back and gestured to the group. “Come, come!” She waved the carriage on, calling, “Thank you, Emile!” to the driver.

Leonie took the steps two at a time, secretly relieved that Gaspar and the rest were following at a more sedate pace. It gave her time to pretend that she hadn’t been wasting all that time talking to them. “You are bright red,” she heard Isabelle say in a teasing voice, probably to her brother.

“There you are!” Maman exclaimed when she arrived in the entrance hall, walking briskly to take her place between Étienne and Rose.

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” Leonie babbled, smoothing her skirt busily. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Rose’s face when she saw Vianne. “I lost track of time.”

“Not a moment too soon,” Papa grinned easily. “It looks as if our first guests have arrived. Besides Grandpére, of course.” Grandpére Maurice waved from the soft chair in the parlor across the hall.

Isabelle, Gaspar, and Mathieu were hovering on the landing before the doors - Leonie thought Vianne might be hiding behind them, the better to surprise Rose. She locked eyes with Isabelle and gave her a small head-tilt, urging them in.

When the villagers drew level with her mother and father, Leonie bent her knees just a smidge, hoping they’d understand. After all, she had just lectured them about bowing to her, but her parents were a different story. Isabelle immediately sank into a curtsy, and the boys bowed.

“These are my guests,” Rose spoke up before Maman or Papa could ask who on earth these young people were. Maman smiled warmly, if a second too late.

“Welcome,” she curtsied in return. “It’s good to meet Rose’s friends.”

“I hear you spend time at the village dances,” Papa chimed in. “That’s good, hopefully it means you can keep up with all the stepping we’ll be doing tonight.”

“It’s our honor to be here,” Isabelle said shyly, or as close to shy as Leonie could believe of her. “Thank you for inviting us.” If Leonie rolled her eyes at this brazen acknowledgment that Isabelle knew they’d been invited not by Rose, but by her mother, no one noticed.

Rose offered, “This is Isabelle, her brother Gaspar, and Mathieu. I hit them,” she commented, not without a hint of pride that Leonie hoped no one else noticed. Grandpére chuckled from his seat.

“Oh, we _know_ , already,” Vianne teased, emerging from behind Gaspar’s height and making her curtsy to a smiling Maman and Papa.

Rose gasped. “Vee!” She lunged out of the line to wrap Vianne in a hug, spinning around with her, both laughing. “I can’t believe you’re here! You made it sound so impossible to get the night off…”

“Believe it. I’m yours for the night.” Vianne tapped Rose’s nose with a finger.

“Rose,” Papa murmured. There was a group of dignitaries making their way into the hall.

“Not just now, you aren’t,” Rose sighed. “Talk to you later.”

Vianne moved down the line of children, winking at the twins and chucking each of the little ones on the chin, making them giggle. Isabelle and the boys began to follow her, but Leonie cleared her throat before they could get too far and looked over at her little siblings.

“Everyone, these are Rose’s special guests - Mathieu, Gaspar, and Isabelle. This is their first visit, so be gentle.”

“Are you from the village?” Eulalie questioned, standing primly in front of Mathieu.

“Eh?” he said astutely.

“We do live in the village,” Gaspar answered courteously, even bending down to Eulalie so he wouldn’t seem so tall.

“Yes,” Mathieu caught up, his face pinking ever so slightly. Leonie could swear every single moment of the evening so far had pitched at least one of her new friends into discomposure. “We work in their father’s print shop.”

“Print shop?” Étienne fairly shouted, and Leonie and Clemence shushed him, wary of the snobby guests talking to their parents. He leaned forward to gabble at the boys. “What is it like in there? Do you print books? Are you the only shop in the village? Why did I not know about this?” This, his last question, was directed to the family at large.

“We beg your pardon, Your Royal Pagesty,” Clemence intoned in the driest voice conjurable.

“Page and majesty,” Valerie laughed. “Good one!”

“Let them have a night off from work, Étienne,” Leonie cautioned her brother. “You can talk to them at dinner.”

“I will!” Étienne pounced on that possibility, a little too eagerly. Leonie met Isabelle’s eyes over his head and mouthed _He reads everything_ to her.

Isabelle gave a little nod before moving off, saying “It’s nice to meet you all,” with a smile.

And the excitement was over. The receiving line was left with only nobles to force smiles at. Some of them weren’t too strange or off-putting, but they were the minority. Leonie always wondered at how different these people’s lives must be from hers, if their priorities were focused on fashion, gossip, and distraction by any means necessary. At least they could see Grandpére in the parlor from where they stood, and his silly faces kept them entertained until it was time to move to dinner.


	5. Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interesting developments for one of our girls...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me... hopefully you don't mind a long chapter!

Rose’s first birthday ball, at the age of thirteen, was without a doubt the most tumultuous day of her life; she had cried twice, her dress had been torn and hastily repaired, and her friends hadn’t been allowed to attend. When the actual ball had commenced, she was further dismayed by the cold, snide, sometimes calculating way all the guests behaved. French courtiers proved to be judgmental and always seemed to circle back to lewd phrases and glances. The only part of the ball that Rose actually enjoyed was the dancing itself, even if she had to engage with unwanted partners several times.

Her parents were hesitant the next year, but by then Rose knew what to expect - and got to invite her friends when she ever-so-gently reminded Papa of last year’s disaster. She knew that Maman and Papa were slightly relieved to hold another ball; they had been under pressure from distant relatives to open their court for years now, and, especially with daughters of marriageable age, they were running out of excuses.

It sounded ludicrous, that any man would want a thirteen-year-old for a wife, but it had happened - Papa had ejected a thirty-eight-year-old marquis who had asked him for Rose’s hand the first year.

After four balls in her own honor, plus the added experience from Leonie’s and the twins’ events, Rose knew how the evening would go. Dinner would be polite and stilted; the nobility had long ago learned not to turn up their noses too obviously at being in company with the invited village citizens, most of whom were actually off-duty castle staff. (They kept this last fact a tight secret, not trusting the snooty lords not to cause an uproar. Maman’s creative seating arrangements were practically an art at this point.) If they did make any rude comments tonight, Rose fancied, she could just pummel them as she had the village boys. It could become her trademark.

Then would follow a thirty-minute window to secure dance partners, a terribly tedious formality that Rose usually solved by hogging her father and brothers, and finally the music would begin. Rose had noticed Madame de Garderobe whispering with her husband and she just knew there was a surprise in the works.

Rose got lucky at dinner: she was seated between Chip and Louis, a duke from the south who kept to himself enough to not irritate her. Across from them sat Isabelle and, regrettably, Étienne, who was talking the poor girl’s ear off. Rose should have known he’d be absolutely insufferable about the printing business. She and Isabelle made subtle faces at each other throughout the whole meal, though Isabelle thankfully didn’t seem too peeved by the constant chatter. In that moment, Rose wanted nothing more than to introduce her to her circle of friends, certain now that Isabelle would fit right in.

“I haven’t seen _her_ in a while,” Chip commented when the last plates were being set in front of them, nodding down the table.

Rose peered in the direction of his gesture. “Vianne? No, she’s been in high demand, it seems. First helping her sister and the new baby, and then making up all the missed time in the bakery. I’m just lucky she got to come tonight.”

“I should see if there’s anything I can do for her,” Chip mused. “It sounds like she’s in need of a helping hand.”

“Sure,” Rose shrugged. “If you can get her to agree to accepting help. I can’t figure out what she needs, or I would have done it already.”

When the final course concluded, Chip got up with a furrowed brow and made straight for Vianne. Rose was glad to see her friend receive him with an open face and immediately say yes to whatever he had asked. Hopefully Chip could make some headway where Rose couldn’t.

Everyone adjourned to the ballroom, where Rose’s friends were finally able to gather in one group.

“Don’t you look lovely,” Rose greeted Renée, the daughter of one of the maids, taking in her swept-up strawberry blonde tresses and fine green frock.

“Oh, please,” Renée replied, “you don’t need to say it.” She flipped her head theatrically, though her secured hair couldn’t actually flip. Rose and Rafaella laughed. “I can’t believe you aren’t beating away applicants for dances in _your_ getup.”

“Maybe they heard about last month’s dance,” Rafaella cracked, causing Rose to fold her arms so she wouldn’t playfully smack her. There were too many people here to witness it and misinterpret, not least the two boys she actually had hit. “No, I think they’re intimidated because Rose is so beautiful in this dress. Do you see how it’s gathered down there? See how the crêpe and the silk are stitched together along the sleeves?”

“Yes, yes, you did a lovely job,” Renée said indulgently, “but, do you see, I was actually complimenting the girl _wearing_ it, the one whose birthday it actually is?”

Rolling her eyes at her friends’ bickering, Rose got her wish from earlier at dinner: she noticed Isabelle standing at the edge of a knot of socializing villagers. “Let me introduce you to someone,” she cut in, grabbing Rafaella and Renée by the wrists. “Isabelle!”

“Hello,” Isabelle said pleasantly, inclining her head as they approached.

“Oh, don’t show them any courtesy, they don’t deserve it,” Rose teased, to outraged splutters from Rafaella. “I wanted you to meet my friends. They live here at the castle, so hopefully I’m not introducing people you already know.”

“I’m Renée, and this is Rafaella,” Renée greeted the new girl. “She made Rose’s dress, I’m sure you won’t have heard.”

“I haven’t,” Isabelle replied in bemusement. “It’s very nice. I’m Isabelle.”

“Her brother was one of my victims,” Rose explained to her friends. “Isabelle is excellent company, though.”

“What are you, ashamed of us?” Renée complained to Rose. “You’ve had a new friend for months and didn’t even let us meet her until now? She should be well equipped to converse with us if her first impression of _you_ was watching you injure her own brother.”

“Rose didn’t want to run the poor girl off with your frightening zeal,” Rafaella retorted. “Excuse our manners,” she directed to Isabelle, “we’re in high spirits. It’s not every day we get to meet someone Rose actually likes. Have you been asked to dance yet?”

“Me? No.” Isabelle shook her head with wide eyes. “With all these duchesses and ladies in here? I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Rose stressed. “There are any number of men here who should be happy to dance with you.” As she spoke, her gaze passed around the ballroom, seeing if there was anyone friendly nearby to call upon. A viscount from one of the states to the east, Giraud, leaned against the wall in a practiced devil-may-care fashion. He was clearly trying very hard to communicate that he was just here for a lark, had no idea at all that this event was in Rose’s honor. Louis, the southern duke from dinner, stood looking out of the large windows with his sister, Jacqueline, who was all right on her own, but when paired with him, both could be counted on to be somehow snide and boring at the same time. Not a promising start.

“What about your brother?” Renée pressed.

Isabelle scoffed. “I’m not dancing with Gaspar. I’m here to have a _good_ time. No, I’ll dance if someone should ask, but I’ll be just fine if I don’t.”

“Speaking of dancing, shouldn’t you be finding partners?” Rafaella asked Rose. “If _you_ don’t have someone to dance with, it will definitely stand out.”

“I dance with Papa first,” Rose reminded her, though she knew Rafaella was right. Madame de Garderobe had already taken the stage, though Rose reckoned she still had a few minutes yet. “I’m going to go find him.”

“Say your goodbyes,” Renée advised Isabelle. “When Rose starts dancing, she won’t stop for the rest of the night.”

“I take breaks,” Rose called over her shoulder.

She found her parents chatting with Maestro Cadenza at the foot of the dais where the musicians stood. “There she is!” Papa beamed when he saw Rose approaching. He looked dashing, with his hair in his customary ponytail and sporting a green coat. Rose held her hands out for him to take, and he grasped them, leaning in to place a kiss on her forehead. She couldn’t hide a smile; her father always made her feel so loved. “Seventeen years old,” he bemoaned, pulling her under his arm. “I just can’t believe it.”

“You said that four days ago,” Rose protested; her actual birthday had fallen on a Tuesday this year, not an easy day to hold a ball. “I’m practiced at being seventeen now.”

“You’re very nearly an expert,” Maman quipped, twitching her skirts to fall more comfortably. Her dress was lush and elegant, but it was always strange to see her so resplendent; Maman preferred day dresses. Rose pictured her tucking the brocaded gown into her belt like she did her plain skirts. “I was seventeen when we met, do you remember, dear?”

Papa turned to gaze at Maman. “Do you know what this means?” he responded, a teasing note in his voice. “You have officially spent half your life here with me.”

“Actually, your calculation is a bit off,” Maman reminded him, linking her arm with Papa’s free one. “Rosie didn’t enter the scene for another two years, remember? I still have a bit of time until you will have usurped half of my existence.”

“You should mark the calendar,” Rose chimed in. “It can be a local holiday.”

“My word, Rose, this dance hasn’t even begun and already you’re clamoring for another,” Papa chided.

“I neither confirm nor deny,” Rose shrugged. “I merely suggested a remembrance.”

“Have you seen your brother?” Maman changed the subject. “If I don’t find someone to partner with for the first dance, I’ll be in trouble.”

“I think I can find him. How long do I have?” She directed this last question at the maestro, who thrust a silent five fingers over his shoulder, and she was off again.

Rose found Étienne near the doors, amid a group of young castle employees and royal siblings. “Maman is looking for you,” she murmured to the back of his blond head. His shoulders physically slumped; Étienne hated dancing.

“I don’t suppose she’s asking after me to sneak away to the library together?” he asked halfheartedly.

“I wouldn’t think so, no.”

Extricating himself from the group, Étienne huffed, “Fine, I’ll go dance on my mother’s toes.”

“Buck up,” Leonie instructed, joining Rose to watch him trudge away. “To the uninformed observer, it might look like you don’t want to be here.” Étienne waved her away irritably, and Rose and Leonie chuckled. “Oh, joy,” Leonie said suddenly, and Rose glanced at her. “Don’t look now, but there’s our favorite baron.”

To Rose’s chagrin, near the drinks loitered Armand, the repugnant young baron who was infamous for bothering the staff girls. “I’m telling Papa,” she determined, storming off into the crowd yet again, leaving her sister without a rebuttal.

Leonie watched Rose disappear into the crowd, which was noticeably dividing into pairs. There was no way Papa was going to have the man removed this early, when he hadn’t even done anything untoward… yet. But the thought of having to wait until Armand slimed his way into some innocent girl’s personal space chafed. Leonie had half a mind to discreetly watch him throughout the night -

Before she could even form a real plan, though, her view was taken up by Giraud.

“Good evening, Highness,” the viscount greeted her, still managing to inject the three words with affected nonchalance.

“Pleasure to have you here, sir,” Leonie replied, nodding to him though he hadn’t given her any courtesy in the first place. It was meant to be a brush-off, but he opened his mouth to speak again, and she was stuck.

“I am simply exhausted of these many soirées and dinners,” Giraud sighed, pushing his dark hair away rakishly. “Papa and I have rambled simply everywhere across the country this year. I do so wish I could live like you, tucked away in this adorable castle way out in the countryside… never venturing forth to engage in the social set.”

“We have plenty of society right here,” Leonie answered tersely. “In fact, I was just on my way to speak with - ”

“Pardon me.” Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Leonie turned gratefully from Giraud, catching a glimpse of his astonished face. He was no Armand, but there were certainly few people in this room she’d rather speak to less.

“Yes?” she said eagerly, and then, craning her neck, “Oh! Gaspar! I was… just looking for you. Excuse us.” She curtsied hurriedly to the annoying viscount, grabbed Gaspar’s elbow, and led him away.

“You were?” Gaspar sounded happily surprised.

Leonie certainly wasn’t going to tell him that he had been a welcome escape route, so instead she asked, “Why did you want to talk to me?”

Gaspar stopped - Leonie had only been wandering aimlessly anyway - and she looked up at his face. His mouth was moving, like he was trying to find a way to word whatever he intended to say, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. From the dais, strains of the musicians tuning their instruments could be heard.

“Your Highness, I would - ”

“Leonie, please. Just call me Leonie.”

Gaspar took a breath and raised his eyes to hers at last, and Leonie felt a jolt. “Leonie,” he said, and out of nowhere, she was feeling quite warm. “I wanted to ask you for a dance, but I’m afraid I would be a pretty poor partner. I don’t know the steps. I just… wanted to ask.”

Thank goodness for the dim candlelight here on the edge of the room; Leonie was sure she was bright red now. Her smile came genuinely, but she was so focused on tamping down the blush and the flutter in her stomach that smiling felt foreign all of a sudden. Had she been smiling for fifteen years without ever really knowing how to do it? This was too much teeth, she was sure. “I know them,” she replied to assuage his worry, and then his hand was in hers, the music kicking off with Madame de Garderobe’s voice soaring to the ceiling. “Don’t watch the other couples, watch me. We can stay right here and nobody will notice.”

* * *

Rose was unable to stop smiling. The music flowed through the room, and she fancied it was the movement of the notes themselves that pushed and pulled her toward Papa, away. Her father knew just how to partner her, years of dancing together making them a fluid unit. It wasn’t a particularly demanding dance, this first number, but that only meant that she got to save her energy for the rest of the night. She caught an introspective look on Papa’s face once or twice and wondered if he was still thinking about Maman falling in love at seventeen. There were no prospects on Rose’s horizon, and she was just fine with that, but she couldn’t say the same thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Maman insisted that seventeen was very young, for anyone besides herself, and Rose never bothered herself about it.

It was easy to feel steeped in the memories coating this castle, even though she wasn’t alive for many of them. Both of her parents were vibrant storytellers, not to mention the older staff who had lived for years as household appliances and were only too happy to remind everyone about it. In any case, this ballroom was nearly a historical landmark in Rose’s eyes. On the other side of the coin, though, this was just another room in her house. She was making her own memories, even as she thought about it. Rafaella and her partner swirled by her, and Clemence dancing with one of the kitchen boys. Rose caught a glimpse of a very tall figure by the wall who could only be Gaspar, hunched forward as he seemed to be catching up with each step his partner took - on closer inspection, it was Leonie, gently tugging his arms to show him how to lead her through the dance. Rose laughed out loud at the sight.

Papa leaned in to her ear when the song ended and asked “Would you like to dance another?” over the applause flooding toward Madame de Garderobe.

Rose shook her head. “That was wonderful, Papa. But I know Étienne wants to stop dancing, which leaves your wife without a partner.”

“This is a party for _you_ , need I remind you. Maman won’t be disappointed to sit out a turn.” Her father had eyes only for her in that moment, and Rose felt happy enough to end the night right then.

She nodded instead. “If you insist,” she smiled, and they clasped hands again.

There was nothing quite like her father’s love. In a family of ten children, Papa went out of his way to show every one of them how he cared. For Rose, that meant childhood dancing lessons, both on her own and with Papa as a willing partner. When she was really small, he would read to her, play games with her, and even sing to her. When she grew out of those pastimes, Papa sought her opinions on books she’d read, gifts for her mother and siblings, or ideas for redecorating parts of the castle. He remembered her favorite foods, favorite shops in the village, favorite books. Rose was sure she couldn’t wish for a better father. He always said that he worked hard at it intentionally. His own father had not been as attentive.

Eventually they had to separate, the unfortunate consequence of promising dances to other partners, but Papa managed to place a kiss on her hair before he was swept away by a duchess.

Rose danced with a marquis, then one of the castle carriage drivers, and then the musicians retired for a break. Guests lapped at the refreshment table like a tide, but Clemence swept out of the press with a drink for Rose.

“Thanks, Clem.” Her sister nudged her gently, so as not to jostle the cup. “Did you know that boy has been looking at you?”

“Boy? What boy?”

Clemence probably thought her nod was subtle, but the fact that it wasn’t made Rose wait for a count of five before daring to look. “Him, who you hit. The one Étienne’s been bothering all night.”

Mathieu was looking away when Rose peeked in his direction; she said a silent thanks to her nonchalant tactics. “I don’t want to sound like I’ve got too big a head,” she cautioned her sister, “but I daresay many boys have been looking at me. It _is_ my ball.”

When Clemence drifted away, Rose waited again before casually slipping through the milling throng toward her unfortunate guest. Mathieu saw her coming and was able to dip into a bow before she could say anything.

“How can I help you, Your Highness?” The question wouldn’t have raised any red flags to an eavesdropper, but from the one conversation Rose had managed to have with him before, she was quite familiar with the underlying sass in his tone.

She just stood and looked at him for a few seconds, then, when one would expect the silence to end, she waited a handful of moments more. It was a mean trick, but it would make him uncomfortable, and sure enough, Rose could see the composed testiness drain ever so slightly from Mathieu’s face while a hint of uncertainty crept in. He actually had a nice face, when he wasn’t focusing all his energy on scowling. Once the silence was nice and awkward, she spoke. “I wanted to ask how you’re enjoying the ball.”

“A bit better than the last one, since you asked,” Mathieu replied. This time, the effect was the opposite: his words were snide, but his tone was level, like his heart wasn’t in it.

Rose wouldn’t rise to any bait he dangled; she was determined to get a sincere response from him. “Have you gotten to dance? The music has been wonderful.”

Mathieu nodded like his head was being dragged. “I have friends from the staff here tonight. Isabelle also took a set with me.”

“Oh, are you and Isabelle - ?” Rose felt sure Isabelle would have said if she were looking forward to dancing with Mathieu, but you never knew.

He snorted, and Rose tamped down a triumphant smirk at eliciting a genuine reaction. “No, no. She’s like a sister. I’d rather dance with her any day than any of these…”

“Go on,” Rose urged. “I’m not fond of all these great ladies. Nor the noblemen. I just have to invite them.”

“Is that so.” Mathieu’s hands were jammed in his pockets.

“It’s so.”

“You look to be having a good time with them out there,” he said with a nod to the middle of the floor, accusation shadowing his tone.

So he _had_ been looking at her. Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, Rose let a smile come to her face. “Well, they’re rotten company, but they certainly know how to dance.”

“It’s a far cry from the way we’re used to dancing in Villeneuve,” Mathieu admitted.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be better songs later in the evening. Once the nobles have had a little more alcohol, it’s easier to switch to some actually exciting dances. In the meantime, it’s quicker to get the hang of these court dances with a partner who does them all the time. I’m sure I can find a baroness or someone, if you like.”

“You think a highborn lady would dance with a lowly villager?” Voice edged with contempt, Mathieu folded his arms across his chest. It only served to draw Rose’s attention to his coat, made for Sunday church services and nothing fancier. But she’d spent a lifetime shutting down mental comparisons between the peerage and her local friends, and she wasn’t about to start making a distinction now.

Trying to make her face radiate sincerity, she looked him in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

“How about you?”

Rose studied his face, not about to be caught in some stupid prank. But there was nothing but challenge in his voice and expression, certainty that she would balk at the thought of dancing with a commoner. He really believed she thought that little of all the villagers? _He never met me until I belted him in the face_ , she reminded herself, though the thought did little to soothe the sting of being believed a hypocrite.

“I’d be delighted,” she said clearly, smiling as brightly as she could. To his credit, Mathieu didn’t even blink. _We’ll be playing this game of social chicken all night_ , Rose thought. _He’s trying to catch me out as a horrible person. I just have to prove that I’m not. Wish I’d thought of all this before I fought them and ruined my reputation_.

Mathieu’s arms were still folded, his thumb rubbing at his elbow. He was still uncomfortable. “You don’t have a partner? What about the queue of noblemen waiting for a dance?”

Rose shrugged. “They don’t want to dance with me. They just want to have been seen at the event. Maybe they’re afraid they’ll get a kicking,” she commented with a blithe grin.

She could see his brain working feverishly to come up with an acceptable response - that was fair, she shouldn’t be so flippant about such a charged topic - but Bellamy appeared at her side, and Mathieu was off the hook.

“Rose? I have to go to bed,” her little brother announced.

“Oh, too bad, Bell.” Rose ran a hand through his hair. “I hope you had a good time.”

“I need to give you your present.” Bellamy proffered a small box, and Rose sank to her knees so he could watch her open it.

“This is what you were working on at Grandpére’s, isn’t it?” she asked, opening the box. With a gasp, she pulled out a little clay pendant, painted with potter’s glaze. It was shaped like a girl dancing in penché, her hair painted brown like Rose’s. “Bellamy, this is beautiful!” She hugged him to her side with her free arm and examined it more closely. “Did you give her dress textures and everything?”

Bellamy nodded happily. “Grandpére showed me how.”

“Thank you,” Rose effused, tucking the pendant back into the box for safekeeping before giving Bellamy a real hug. “I’ll have to put it on a chain as soon as I get back to my room. I love it!”

“You’re welcome,” Bellamy mumbled as any eight-year-old overwhelmed by praise. He skittered away as soon as she let him go.

Rose stood up again, emerging from the nice moment back into the world of Mathieu’s refusal to cut her any slack. “I need to say goodnight to my little sisters, they’ll be leaving with him for bedtime.”

“Don’t forget about our dance,” Mathieu said lightly. Too lightly.

“I’ll meet you on the floor,” Rose promised.

At the door, she gave Lunette, Eulalie, and Helaine goodnight hugs and kisses, but the thought that clamored for attention was _Ha! Now he’s seen me being as nice and loving as can be. Put that in your hatred pipe and smoke it_.

* * *

The break elapsed, the musicians took their places again. Rose hurried to the middle of the floor; surely Mathieu would know to find her there. As she glanced around, Madame de Garderobe caught her eye from the dais and winked, her gaze twinkling almost as much as the pearls in her wig. Rose responded with a questioning squint - what on earth was Madame about to put her through?

An upturned hand appeared in her peripheral vision. Rose turned to see Mathieu, waiting stolidly for her to notice him. His face was carefully blank, like he didn’t even know she was there. Was he really expecting her to turn her nose up in front of an entire ballroom?

Indulging herself in a tiny exasperated shake of her head, Rose took his hand and the music played.

It took little time to realize that Mathieu was quite a good dancer. Of course he would be, if he was a frequent attendee of the village festivals. But even with a touch of hesitation from not being familiar with the steps, he had exemplary control of his body and led confidently. Rose tried her best to proceed as if he weren’t missing cues here and there; he wasn’t to blame, and he picked up the movements with a little concentration on the other pairs, in any case.

On the third round of the repetitive song, a different voice soared over the strings, and Rose’s head whipped around. Where Madame de Garderobe should have been at the front of the stage, Valerie stood instead. Rose let out a little gasp, her sister’s steady melody filling the room. Catching her eye, Valerie smiled through her words, her stretched lips warping the lyrics just a little. Rose grinned back. So this was the surprise she had been suspicious of. She couldn’t think of a better one.

“She’s very good,” Mathieu commented oh-so-casually when Rose turned back to him. They hadn’t missed a step while she had been distracted. Rose was impressed.

She could do nothing but agree. “Yes. She’s always had wonderful natural talent, but Madame de Garderobe has been giving her singing lessons for years now. She’s never sounded better.” Rose was grinning again. “I had no idea they were planning this, I’m so pleased.”

“A bit odd to steal her sister’s thunder.”

And the grin was gone. “She’s not thunder-stealing,” Rose snapped. “Not that you would know, since you don’t know her, or me, but this is a gift she’s giving me. Yes, she can show off her talents, but it’s a nice gesture from one sister to another. And I love to support her and encourage her, because she wants my approval. We all want others’ approval sometimes.”

The song ended and the ballroom burst into loud applause. Rose dropped Mathieu’s hand with no ceremony past a civil “Thank you for the dance,” and made for the dais. Hugging Valerie, she murmured, “Please tell me you’re singing more,” earning her a wide smile when she pulled away. Valerie looked to Madame de Garderobe, who nodded approvingly.

Rose stepped away and they began the next song, leaving her to realize that she hadn’t secured her next partner. Oh, well. She certainly wasn’t getting Mathieu back after ruining that attempt at a truce.

But there was Chip, edging around the floor to reach her. “I can’t let you sit out a set,” he greeted her without ceremony, pulling her, laughing, into the dance three steps behind so they could catch up. “You’d be sighing about it all night.”

“My hero,” Rose intoned. “You know me too well.”

“Hey, who is that boy who Leonie’s been dancing with?”

“Gaspar?” Rose looked every which way, sure she couldn’t miss Gaspar towering a foot higher than everyone else. “He works at a print shop in Villeneuve. He’s one of my… friends.” At this point in the night, the ballroom doors had been opened, the heat of the room having built to the point that it had to be tempered by the cool outdoor air. If Rose couldn’t spot them in here, they must have gone outside, especially knowing Leonie’s seeming dependence on fresh air. Rose nodded toward the doors. “Let’s travel.”

She and Chip meandered through the other dancers, progressing across the floor while Chip laughed. “Do you mean one of your _new_ friends? I can’t believe they came, really, you could have any number of torture devices hidden away here to further injure them with.”

“Shut up.” Chip’s back was to the open doors and Rose craned around him to see if she could spot her sister.

“Spying, are we?”

“Only if you can be casual about it and not give us away! Now hush!” Had Leonie danced with anyone besides Gaspar? She’d noticed them at the very start of the night, but Chip made it sound like he’d seen them together recently…

* * *

Leonie had not danced with anyone besides Gaspar. But they hadn’t been dancing the entire night like Rose liked to.

After the first dance, Leonie introduced him to a group of her friends outside the dance floor, but Gaspar already knew some of them from Villeneuve. Her friend Geraldine, a kitchen helper, whispered to Leonie that she “approved.” Flustered, Leonie had asked him to dance again so she could escape, then overthought that decision through the entire song. This would only make Geraldine more convinced that they were… anyway.

Isabelle joined them at the break, and Leonie relaxed a bit, enjoying her easy conversation, but then a castle farrier asked Isabelle for the next dance and she was alone again with Gaspar.

“Are you having a good time?” Leonie asked, nursing her drink so she could keep her mouth busy for longer.

Gaspar kept fiddling with his clothes throughout the night; right now he was rubbing at the hem of his sleeve. Leonie wondered if she should reassure him that there was no more dust from his fall out of the carriage, or if that would only embarrass him. At her question, though, he nodded energetically. “It’s been fun,” he enthused. “I usually don’t do this sort of thing. It’s a lot better than I expected, though.”

Leonie assumed he meant attending the village dances. “But you were there at the last one,” she pointed out.

Gaspar shrugged. “Isabelle told me I need to get out more.”

“And you got repaid for it by getting beaten up by my sister,” Leonie winced. “I promise she regrets that, and I know she’s apologized, but I’m still sorry it happened.”

A smile emerged on Gaspar’s face, endearingly lopsided. “I’m not,” he countered. “I got to meet you.”

Leonie’s face flamed. She buried her face in her drink, unable to hold his eye. Her hair rustled on the top of her head, and she looked up to see the outer doors being opened, a breeze swishing through. Oh, she would feel so much better out of these walls… but she found she didn’t want to leave Gaspar alone. _I just want to be a good host_ , she thought, but even as she told herself that, she knew it wasn’t true. Being around Gaspar was making her uneasy, but she didn’t dislike it. She was curious about him, and she thought he might be curious about her as well. He hadn’t looked for another partner to dance with, even his sister. The warmth from Leonie’s blush seemed to seep inside her body, settling in her chest.

“The next dance will start soon,” she mentioned. “Are you - ?”

“Yes,” Gaspar accepted.

A relieved laugh escaped Leonie’s warm chest, but it was quickly cut off as she made a terrible realization. “Um, you know you don’t have to accept? Sometimes people think that we issue orders that you can’t say no to, but I don’t think I’ve ever given an order in my life, it was just a question. You really don’t have to spend all this time with me tonight.”

Gaspar had put his hands in his pockets, which had the effect of making him look even longer than usual. “I didn’t think you were ordering me. You asked me to dance, and I like to dance with you.”

Did Leonie always have to think this hard when she talked to people? She didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Okay. Good - ”

“Night, Leonie.” Little Lunette was tugging gently on her sleeve, and Leonie crouched down awkwardly to hug her with the arm not holding her drink.

“Are you off to bed, then? Where are the littles? I’ll say goodnight to everyone.”

Gaspar plucked the glass from her hand and went to put it on the tray of used dishes while Leonie hugged her little sisters goodnight. When he came back, Helaine stared up, wide-eyed at what, to her, was a steeple of a man. “Goodnight, tall man,” she said as Maman led them away, and Leonie and Gaspar both laughed. Bellamy scuttled past them on his way out, but Leonie got in a ruffle of his hair before he escaped.

They stayed on the periphery again, dancing quietly until Valerie took the stage. “Oh, I’ve been looking forward to this,” Leonie sighed. “Valerie’s been so excited about it.” Rather than make Gaspar dance through her distraction, Leonie stopped, and they simply stood together to watch Rose’s reaction. “Hey, isn’t that Mathieu?” Leonie asked.

Gaspar’s eyebrows shot up. “I would never have expected that,” he stressed, shaking his head. When Leonie responded with a quizzical look, he explained, “He didn’t even want to come tonight. He turned your sister down when she tried to invite him.”

“And now they’re dancing together.” Leonie would certainly be interrogating Rose about this later. But for now, the song was over, and the gardens beckoned. “I’m dying to get outside. Are you coming?”

Gaspar wordlessly gestured to show he’d follow her, and they left the ballroom. It was already dark outside, but the candlelight spilled out to bathe the flagstones. There were also lamps lit on the lawn within a designated space for guests to maintain. Leonie stopped at the railing of the terrace, relishing the smell of grass and the soft sounds of insects.

Gaspar was gawking, wide-eyed, at the castle roof, which even he had to crane his neck to look at. Leonie watched his gaze travel, taking in the massive edifice. Being outside as often as she was, every angle of the far-reaching building was familiar to her. Still, it was easy to forget what an imposing sight it could be until she put herself in the shoes of a visitor. The turrets, arches, and wings of the castle were beautiful.

“This place is amazing,” Gaspar said quietly. “I can’t believe you live here.”

Leonie couldn’t think of how to respond to that. Instead, she threw caution to the wind. “Would you like a tour?”

They were by no means the only people on the terrace, so Leonie and Gaspar loitered by the stairs leading down to the lawn. When no one was looking at them, they hurried down the steps and out of the perimeter of lamps, keeping close to the castle wall. _I really shouldn’t be doing this_ , Leonie considered, but where was the harm? She was just taking Gaspar to see her favorite places on the grounds. A hushed laugh issued from her mouth, and Gaspar shushed her until they were around the corner.

On this side of the castle were the gardens and the pond, a vegetable garden, the tiled pool that they only used in the summer months, and a great many walking paths. Though it was undeniably dark out here, the castle was so brilliantly lit tonight, inside and out, that it was like one great torch; it cast shadows over a wide radius. There was a gazebo Leonie particularly liked on the edge of the pond, and she led Gaspar inside, her descriptions of the various sights petering out as they sat down on opposite benches.

The water gently lapping on the shore highlighted the sudden silence between them. Leonie wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, but she had clasped them on her lap and didn’t want to fidget with them any more. “Rose told us you work in a print shop?”

Gaspar smiled, the moonlight and far torchlight making his features just barely visible. Leonie found herself looking at his lopsided mouth again, just a bit off-center on his face. “Isabelle and I both work for our dad,” he explained. “We printed the party invitations!”

Leonie couldn’t help but smile back. “And you like it?”

There was a beat of silence before Gaspar said, “I like helping him.”

Leonie was curious about that, but she wouldn’t pry. “You know, I’ve just realized I have no idea how a page is printed. What do you have to do?”

“What do _I_ do, or the whole process in general?”

“You. Both, I suppose.”

“Okay, well,” Gaspar sounded a bit breathless gearing up for the explanation, “we have the press, right? It’s kind of a long wooden bed with another frame upright, like that - ” he tried to demonstrate with his arms - “and it’s got a big screw with a handle to turn it. You have to get a galley frame ready with the letters you want printed, line them up just right, and roll ink on them. Then there are a couple more frames to hold the paper, one of them has to be wet, and you lower the screw with the platen - that’s what presses the paper - and you have a printed sheet, easy as anything!”

“Wow!” Leonie wasn’t sure she understood half of that, but Gaspar certainly knew what he was talking about. “So what do you do?”

“Oh, a bit of everything, I guess. Wherever I’m needed. Sometimes when the press breaks, I have to help fix that, too. There are endless things to be done, really. Isabelle usually takes orders from customers, but she’s a dab hand at inking and composing, that’s putting the letters into the galley to be printed. It has to be done backwards, you see, so they get printed onto the sheet the right way around.”

“That’s amazing,” Leonie marveled. “There’s so much to remember. I’ve never done anything like that. I’m surprised my mother hasn’t built a printing press herself, she loves that stuff.”

“...Printing?”

Leonie chuckled. “No, no, inventing. She loves all sorts of mechanisms and tools. She came up with our own laundry system and made these amazing mechanical toys when we were small, and she’s always working on something up in her workshop. Oh, and she designed the whole library in Villeneuve! She’s very self-reliant. You should talk to her about the shop!”

“Me?” Gaspar scoffed. “To the princess? I could never.”

“You’re talking to a princess right now, aren’t you? I think you’ll find we’re just ordinary people.”

“You could never be an ordinary person.”

Leonie was sure she had blushed more times tonight than the rest of her life combined. How did he do it? The heat in her face made the cool night air feel colder, and she shivered. “I was afraid you’d get awfully chilled,” Gaspar chided, and before Leonie knew it, he had stood up and removed his jacket to put around her shoulders. He sat down next to her this time, and her heart beat wildly.

“That’s all right, I’m used to all sorts of weather,” she protested weakly, but she made no move to relinquish the warm comfort of the jacket. All this talking was leading to very overwhelming thoughts and feelings. Maybe they should go back to dancing. “Are you ready to go back inside?” Leonie asked.

“Ready when you are.” Gaspar’s voice sounded very quiet for being so close. She didn’t dare look at him.

“We’ll be missed soon,” she determined, standing up regretfully. “But we can take the long way back,” she consoled herself.

“Can I ask you a question?” Gaspar ventured as they walked slowly.

“Of course.”

“Why do you spend so much time outside?” In the growing light, his expression was quite soft. “I don’t know,” Leonie demurred. “It’s not like I was raised strictly within four walls and a roof, my siblings also play or work outside as much as they like. I just feel… hemmed in if I’m inside for long. And, believe me, I’m under no delusions as to the freedom of such a large home, I don’t think there’s a small room in the castle. But I feel more like myself out here. Like the fresh air flushes out my brain or something. Even if it’s raining or snowing. Of course, then I can’t bring a book, but I find other ways to entertain myself.”

“You like to read?”

Leonie smiled. “You can’t be my parents’ child and not love to read. We’re all a bit spoiled in that regard. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to read everything in the library, but it won’t be for lack of trying.”

They could hear music again now that they were close to the castle, and Leonie realized it was a jaunty song - Papa always hired villagers to play country tunes so they could have a little fun at their birthday balls. Judging by the laughter from inside, they were missing all the fun. Leonie looked at Gaspar, and they both broke into an eager jog. Just before they emerged around the corner to the lighted lawn and the ballroom terrace, Leonie hurriedly removed Gaspar’s jacket and thrust it at him.

Inside, Rose was, of course, twirling in the middle of the floor, smiling like a beacon. Leonie couldn’t help but smile herself, taking in the sight of her beloved sister surrounded by friends, family, and guests letting loose. There were a few upturned noses on the faces of the more disapproving noblemen standing by the walls, but there were actually several powdered wigs among the dancers. Wasting no more time, Leonie and Gaspar inserted themselves in the lines and joined the fun.

What would turn out to be the last number of the night was a dance that required switching partners, but there ended up being more women than men in the mix. No one wanted to bow out, though, so with a reasonable amount of shrugging, women prepared to double up. Leonie was secretly a little glad to have the chance to dance even a few steps with someone besides Gaspar, though he had been an enlightening partner. It would not be the last she saw of him, she knew.

She had a turn with Chip, eyes twinkling, then got passed to Lumière, who gave her a rogueish wink. The next hand she grabbed was -

“Hi,” Rose chirped, close to her face.

“Well, well, well, we meet at last,” Leonie drawled. The turns were short, so anything she said would have to be concise. “Has it been everything you hoped for?”

Rose tilted her head noncommittally. “Seeing as my hopes were moderate at best, yes. Come to my room later,” she instructed before they had to part. Leonie gave her a parting wink, handed her off, and then -

Who was in front of Rose but Mathieu. Had he irritated her before? Yes. But she was in too good of a mood at the end of her night to let him spoil it. “Didn’t I tell you there’d be better dances?” she crowed.

He had to twirl her before he answered, but to her surprise he wasn’t in a mood. “You did,” he acknowledged as if he were actually giving her credit. “Good thing, too. I could have fallen asleep dancing those quadrilles all night.”

Rose laughed - actually laughed at something Mathieu said! - but it was time to switch partners again, and Rose found herself looking into her mother’s mischievous eyes. “How on earth do you know how to lead?” she demanded when Maman executed a male step expertly.

“I always do my research,” Maman reminded her. “You’ve no idea how many partners I had to skip to get you for the last round.”

“Maman,” Rose cooed, touched.

The music stopped, the dance ended, and partners bowed to each other, except for the birthday girl and her mother, who stood hugging while the applause petered out. “Happy birthday, Rose,” Maman murmured in her ear.

* * *

Though the dance was over, the castle wasn’t closing its doors yet; most of the noble attendees adjourned to their assigned quarters for the night, but the villagers and staff guests were only too happy to impose on the royal hospitality until they were well and truly done socializing. Even they trickled out after a while, though; Grandpére found Rose to give her a peck on the cheek before leaving for the room they always had made up for him in the west wing.

Rose stepped out onto the stone landing of the great front stairs to wave coaches, carts, and horses goodbye as people started heading back to Villeneuve. She could hear her siblings behind her in the foyer bidding people farewell, diplomats that they were raised to become. Rose felt she could indulge herself a more personal touch tonight.

A throat cleared behind her, and Rose turned to regard - who else? - Mathieu. His sandy hair had become tousled in the waning etiquette of the night winding down, and he looked less… uptight than she had seen him. “That was… nice,” he admitted, pointing a thumb back toward the ballroom. “Good birthday.”

“So you don’t regret coming?” Rose wondered archly. Okay, maybe she was still a little peeved about his… him-ness, even if the last dance was all right. “It’s just, I seem to recall your spurning my invitation when I brought it.”

“Why _did_ you invite me?” He asked it like it had been burning away in the back of his brain all night. Rose’s brow furrowed. “I know why you invited the others; Isabelle wouldn’t shut up about you after meeting you, and I know Gaspar went and apologized to you for the fight, but I…”

“I hurt you,” Rose replied, not without a tinge of surprise. “This was my apology to you. I thought we covered this when I brought the invitations?”

Pointing over his shoulder with his thumb again, Mathieu persisted, “Your sister said it was a punishment.”

Rose ducked her head; would nothing get through to this boy? “Okay, you really want to know? Yes, my mother made me invite you because she knew I wouldn’t want to. But it’s not like you think. I was so embarrassed after what I did, Mathieu. I felt terrible. If I never had to look you in the eye again, I would have been relieved. But my mother knew I needed to fix things. I like to think I would have come up with the idea myself in a few days’ time; she just got me there sooner. I’m not a monster. I have to try to make amends when I botch things up. I’m glad you had a good time. Hopefully my attempts at penitence didn’t sour the night too much for you.”

Mathieu was silent for a long time. Rose heard crunching on gravel behind and below her; the castle carriage that had brought them here was ready to take the print shop group back home. Isabelle appeared at Mathieu’s side, yawning. “It was a lovely night,” he finally spoke. Rose had been expecting more verbal prodding, not general politeness, but they had an audience now. “Good night. And happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Rose, we had a wonderful time,” Isabelle added. “This was… well, I can hardly describe it.”

“Thank you for being here,” Rose returned with an attempt at a smile. If it looked a bit off, she could chalk it up to sleepiness. “I’m really glad you could make it. Did you get your dance?”

Isabelle nodded. “Several.”

“See you sometime,” Rose waved them down the stairs.

“Gaspar! We have to go!” Isabelle shouted as she descended. Rose looked into the foyer to check for him and saw his head jerk up from where he had been speaking softly with Leonie, who was the only one left in the hall. Aha, very interesting. Gaspar hastened out the doors, bobbing a clumsy bow to Rose as he passed, and caught up at the carriage. Rose watched it roll all the way down the drive.


End file.
